Rainbow Factory
by Vargasu
Summary: "What do you want?" Wingo cowered under the angry sheriff's glare, before murmuring quietly. "I would like to file a Missing Persons Report."
1. Prolouge

The abandoned town was awash with the pale moonlight's glow, giving the old and decrepit buildings a haunted look. A light fog had risen from the scorched ground, the sand cooling rapidly in the chill of the evening. The boarded up doorways and rotting ramps created a path of destruction for the stragglers to follow when they entered the township.

The tuner, purple with carbon fiber panels that blended to back, wandered through the sparse vegetation on the side of the path. The small, one lane road had fallen to disrepair years ago. Asphalt had cracked and small shoots of prairie grass had sprouted within, the cacti grew up to the very border of the road and outlined the many collapsed buildings as he approached the only modern facility in the area.

Motor Co factory. It was the only building in the area that didn't have a trading post sign on its roof. Boost had never been to the area, blindly following the trail in hopes of finding someone, anyone, that could redirect him to the highway.

He had been racing with Wingo and Snot Rod, DJ waiting at the end of the road to determine the winner. It was a boring night, Nitrous was plentiful and cars on the stretch of road sparse. Of course they did what all young vehicles did when bored, party. The Kyoku had taken a turn on a side street, hoping to speed ahead of his fellow Hazards, somehow ending up in the area of Autovia, or what was left of it.

Barbed wire and chain length fences rose out of the ground to either side, warding off the plants that desired to grow there. The tall factory loomed over the small road, glaring down on any who dared pass by its gates. Generators hummed absently, remaining idle as if someone had been there earlier in the day.

Boost's lavender eyes flicked back and forth at the blackness beyond the fences. He could feel the icy wind pierce his chassis, sending chills of uncertainty through is engine. He jumped slightly when his tires reached the cold, unforgiving metal of the ramp that led to the green and beige building. The oddly shaped structure seemed to swallow him as Boost carefully followed the small orange lights on the sides of the ramp into the building.

The inside was dark, the abyss hugging every inch of the interior. Boost continued to slowly drive down the hallways, which were lined with picture frames with figures that were impossible to distinguish in the poor lighting. He could see a faint light at the end of the corridor, but was tentative to enter it.

"Hello? Is anyone here? Hello?"

The gang leader called out, hearing his voice echo slightly in the spacious room. He assumed it was the main area of the factory. Glancing out a nearby window, he could see that the long hallway he exited was set at an incline, leading him to the top floor of the odd building.

Pale eyes flicked around the room, noticing small details that made him nervous. There seemed to be only one recent set of tire tracks, obvious against the dusty floor. The entire of the room was a sterile white, with flecks of a familiar neon green color scratched on the walls. Small papers that were covered in sand left haunting messages of 'I'm sorry…' and 'forgive me' or simply names and VIN numbers. Against better judgment, the tuner continued through the room, observing every minute detail he could. His anxiety was rising with every RPM, and he could feel his throat go dry as he glanced at pictures along the walls of expressionless cars and irate students. At the end of the long line of photos, was a portrait of Chick Hicks himself, glaring angrily at the camera.

Boost chuckled nervously, reversing slightly so he could return the way he came and hopefully find someone outside threatening to arrest him for trespassing. He attempted to drive back into the blackened corridor, but found himself being carried through the room.

Panicked, he glanced down to his tires, finding them locked in place on a conveyor belt. He was forced through many thick plastic strips that concealed the main factory area from the rest of the offices. The opaque plastic slapped annoyingly against his windshield, forcing him to blink repeatedly. A gentle decline greeted him beyond the doorway. The tuner glanced down, finding many more conveyor belts beneath him, with waiting arms that held a variety of tools.

He looked back up, finding two arms descending upon his frame, poking and prodding his carbon fiber panels, before latching on and unceremoniously ripping them off. The Delinquent Road Hazard screamed out in agony and defiance, subconsciously hoping the volume would stop the assembly line and allow him his freedom. He wrenched his eyes shut, feeling tears prick his eyelids. He didn't need to look as he felt his spoiler being ripped off his body. Nuts, bolts and pieces of metal and panel clanged softly on the belt and floor far beneath him, echoing against one another in a cacophony. Louder clangs resounded through the large area as his beloved Nitrous tanks were removed and carelessly thrown to the floor below, crumpling as gravity did its work. A larger claw descended on his numb figure, grasping his sides tightly and lowering him down to the next belt.

The claw held his a few feet over the belt, as a podium-like structure raised itself to meet his undercarriage. Straps extended from the hoist, wrapping around his axles and making it a struggle for the Kyoku to move. He glared and scowled in determination as he attempted to wiggle off the podium and hopefully escape whatever else awaited him.

Drills revved in his vicinity, and Boost watched in horror as they dismantled his wheels, extracting his custom rims and tossing them in a bin which was filled with the rims of other cars. Bolts were loosened as the tires themselves were removed from his person, restraints gripping his axles tighter as the tuner tried to dodge the drills and wrenches. The stench of burning rubber immediately filled the air as he watched helplessly as his tires were tossed into an incinerator. The rancid smoke burned his eyes, making his engine rev slightly in an attempt to filter out the black smoke. A loud bang and a shower of sparks followed, forcing him to look away. One of his tires had popped, sending a new wave of noxious fumes into the air and up through the blackened chimney. He coughed heavily, attempting to expel the smoke that coursed through his system.

The tuner closed his eyes, lavender orbs blurred with tears. The smoke was making him dizzy. Orange light continued to stain his chassis as he moved closer to the end of the segment of the conveyor belt. He couldn't feel nor hear the new, standard Lightyear tires as they were installed on his body. They clashed horribly with the overall dark look of the car, but the robotic arms didn't seem to care as he was lifted from the podium. The restraints loosened and retracted back from whence they came with a soft click, the podium in itself fizzling out underneath the young gang leader as if it was never there.

Boost blinked open his eyes as he felt the heat finally fade away, but wished he hadn't bothered. The fumes had made him groggy, and unable to feel as the sanders buffed away his beautiful back and purple gradients and reverting him to his natural silver color. They moved in rhythmic circles that oddly relaxed him. Boost mentally cursed himself for letting his guard down briefly, even if the gentle ministrations of the buffers lulled and soothed his body. He closed his eyes blissfully, easing into the calm that had washed over his drowsy frame.

More arms closed in on the dozing frame, gently removing parts and replacing them with standard issue ones. The robotic limbs were careful in their work, as if attempting to keep the subject unaware for as long as possible. They succeeded for a while, the drills were much quieter than before and the programmed machine had done its work.

Boost's eyes suddenly snapped open, watching in undisguised horror as the arms finished removing his headlights, replacing them with drab, plain stock headlights. His lilac eyes flitted to either side of his body, noticing that his rearview mirrors had been scrapped, glass showering the belt underneath his new racing tires. His eyes remained wide as he stared down his new hood, the drab steel lacked color and the familiar ridges that characterized his own hood.

He gasped, sobbing silently as the merciless machines transformed him. Boost wailed, begging for the gods above to end his suffering. Tears left light trails down his body, leaving small drops behind in their wake. Despair overtook panic as the Kyoku began to accept that he was going to die here.

He was finally dropped to the final area, a small tiled, enclosed area that reeked of paint and polish. The walls and floor were stained with years and infinite amounts and layers of white and black paint. He was locked into place, metal covers extending from the walls and enclosing around the wheels. Boost held his breath and shut his eyes instinctively, panicking from the overtly bright area compared to the dismal darkness that engulfed the rest of the facility.

A soft fizzing noise, along with the rattling of many near empty paint cans created a symphony for the next several minutes. Boost didn't dare open his eyes, fearful that the uncaring appendages would spray his eyes and he would have no way to rinse them out. The smell and sounds were amplified in the small space, making the tuner grind his teeth in irritation. He could feel a pounding in his head and under his hood, the beginnings of a migraine for sure.

Finally, the noises stopped, the multi-jointed arms retracting into the wall as the polish on his new paint finished drying. All was silent for a moment; the only noises were the distant sounds of the conveyor belt awaiting its next victim. Boost finally opened his eyes, and shyly drove forward. A small doorway had opened on the far side of the paining room, leading to what appeared to be another room.

His new tires glided effortlessly across the shining tile and onto the seemingly glass floor of the room beyond. He looked around, seeing his reflection mirror his every movement from multiple angles. He whimpered at what he looked like.

His body was a sterile white, clean and without blemishes. He had no license plate, the place for one on his bumper removed. His headlights were placed at such an angle they looked almost like stickers, following the now gentle curve of his fenders. His massive spoiler was replaced with a smaller, more modest one that barely lifted from his chassis. His lavender eyes stared emptily at the barcodes that graced his sides, identifying him as a product. The thin lines alternated with thicker ones, scarring his body. He gazed at his plain figure, despair filling every fiber of his being. He was a typical stock car.

"Why…?"

Static immediately fizzled in every wall, the large screens towering over the white and black car and filling the room with black, white and gray specks. Boost looked to the floor, finding that he was standing on a screen as well. He raced backwards, trying to find the door. All that remained in its place was a seamless screen, playing the annoying static.

Boost screamed.

He raced around the room, finding no indications on how he came to be in here, no means of escape. The static that was silent began to crescendo into an uproar. Boost closed his eyes, gritting his teeth in determination. He tried to block out the annoying sound, and focus on other things.

The noise rang through his chassis, amplifying the pounding under his hood. Boost started listing names, places, attempting to recall how he came into this predicament. Things he committed to memory, cars, places, events, names, voices… they all seemed so far away, almost too far to recall correctly.

"No!" Boost cried out, static drowning out his voice.

He recalled his fifth birthday. He had gotten a pet scooter as a present from his uncle. He and his friends Belle and Braeburn had named it Alou. They had then proceeded to repaint the room in chocolate frosting, covering each other in cake, much to his mother's disdain. Boost could feel the edges fraying, details that were once crystal clear becoming blurred, and before the memory itself vanished.

The quickly recalled another. The times he was working at the elderly car garage when he was a teenager surfaced. He remembered the old man who introduced him to Nitrous late one evening. The next free day they had they went to the Great Salt Lakes. Boost could still smell the salty air, even though it was quickly becoming stale as the vivid colors of his mind faded.

Frantic, he tried to remember other things, Wingo trying Nitrous for the first time, Meeting DJ, Snot Rod's first time in the impound. The memories faded from his consciousness as the tuner finally gave in, resting on his shocks as the volume continued to rise.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The sun was rising over the sandy dunes, golden light gracing the features of everything it touched. The sky was stained with pinks and purples that blended with the dark blues and stars of the fleeting night. The light fog that had encompassed the abandoned town had dissipated, leaving no evidence of the demonic atmosphere it held the night before.

The car looked down to the orange sand, watching as it fell dryly through the groves in his tires. The air was dry, promising a hot day for all those in the area. His stare was greeted with a beautiful scene of flowering cacti and shrubs, hiding the scars that once marred the landscape.

He glanced back to the facility blankly, impassive about anything that went on in there. For a moment, he could almost hear faint and familiar cries for help and pleas of forgiveness, but chased away the thoughts. He looked up to the remaining stars; the beautiful work seemed to have no effect on him.

He murmured quietly, the voice joining the soft rustling of the wind as it weaved through the needles on the cacti, picking up the occasional blossom as it blew.

"Recalculating…"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Oh my god, it's been way too long since I wrote a fanfiction! I recently got the Cars: Race o Rama game for Christmas, and have been fangirling over the Cars franchise for a few months now. For those who haven't played the game, there is a scene where cars would enter the MotorCo building and come out as white cars with barcodes on them. They were a bitch to race but the way they talked really creeped me out. But it sparked my muse and now you have this! Not sure if I want to continue this or not, but whatever.

Anyways, thanks for reading!


	2. The Courtesy Call

Holley sighed. She was tired, her eyes drooping slightly with each blink. It was three in the morning when Finn had radioed her, instructing her to meet him at the diner three blocks away from her apartment. Despite her rather loud arguments against this, he insisted she came. The road was dark and desolate, the Jaguar finding herself to be the only one awake at the early hour. Streetlamps on either side of the street barely illuminated the way, all the shop front's signs had all been turned off hours prior. Grumbling, she pulled into the driveway of the Café, not seeing her elder partner anywhere.

"OK Finn, I'm here." She spoke into her radio, not at all amused by the dark and cold London morning.

"Splendid timing, Miss Shiftwell." A suave voice said from beside her. She jumped slightly, becoming used o the Aston Martin's sudden entries and exits. He was looking at her innocently, as if it wasn't three am, forty-eight degrees, and he hadn't ripped her from the best sleep she'd had in days. He smiled, sipping a steaming cup of tea.

"…Where did you get that?" Holley asked, curious. "Never mind, I don't care. Why did you call me out so early? Couldn't it have waited until morning?" She reprimanded herself. She allowed herself to be more relaxed with her attitude around Finn, seeing as how they were now partners in crime so to speak.

"Well, we have a new mission. But if you want we could wait until morning, but that would mean less time in a small desert town in the middle of America…" Finn trailed off, a smug undertone laced every word he spoke. He knew that the mention of their mission location would catch her attention, even at the ungodly hour.

The drowsiness that was hazing her mind was instantly gone. She turned, glancing at her partner as he stared out into the empty night. She waited for the punch line, but it never came.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Siddley's waiting for us. We best be going." Finn countered with a calm voice. He always was a morning person; finding the early morning pleasant. He pulled out onto the road, making his way towards the field in which the spy plane was waiting patient, and probably partaking in multiple cups of coffee.

Holley quickly drove after him, choosing to remain quiet until they got to the plane. She knew that not only the walls had ears, but that they could also talk in every language. She kept close to her partner, not wanting to lose him in the darkened streets of the calm corner of London.

She didn't really notice when they reached the unkempt fields on the outskirts of the city. The long grass tickled her fenders and brushed softly against her wheels and rims. She could feel the moist dirt turn into the hard metal of Siddley's boarding ramp.

"So, what is our mission about this time?" The magenta car asked. It had been three months since the Allinol and the World Grand Prix, but the missions never seemed to stop. This would make her and Finn's third and a half mission, the half was a complete accident but it counted none the less.

They didn't feel it when Siddley took off, taking them to the distant land of America in the dark night.

"There's been a rash of disappearances in the Ornament Valley area. The disappearances aren't only in the Radiator Springs area, they reach as far west as Santa Carburera and as far north as Motoropolis. These have been happening for the past three years, but have become more frequent in the last six months." Finn pushed a disc towards the Jaguar. "This disc holds a large amount of the missing persons, but we need to stop off in town and get the rest. Sheriff should have what we are looking for. And you can spend some time with Sir Mater while we are there."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Alarms blared in the distance, lights flickering on down the length of the corridor. The polished white tile reflected the harsh lights that extended down the length of the hallway. To either side were open doorways; the only thing keeping the prisoners locked inside was an emancipation grid, which could vaporize them if they attempted escape.

He whistled a merry tune as he meandered down the hallway, much to the anger of his fellow prisoners. He just grinned, holding his hood high as he drove slowly, as if to rub it in their faces. Guards passed by his petit figure, completely ignoring the escaped figure.

"Ha… wunderbar… they haven't a clue…" He whispered half to himself. The distraction he caused was leading the guards away from the main issue.

"Zundapp! Hey! Over here!" A familiar British voice called out to him, making the Janus turn slightly. Axelrod was sitting by his doorway, waving a tire frantically. His army green figure was dull from months without polish, dust in the crevices of his tires.

"Ah, Sir Axelrod… How are you doing? It seems you have been moved out of the maximum security vault…" Zundapp trailed off, his German accent mangling the English words that he didn't grow up speaking. He spoke smugly, giving the jeep a condescending look through his monocle, crooked teeth forming a malicious smile.

"Ah, yes, yes. Good behavior and what not… Anyways, would you be a dear and let your old pal out of here? I'd be ever so grateful…" Axelrod was groveling at the smaller car's tires, and Zundapp relished in the power he had over the once proud and egotistical billionaire.

"That's the thing… I can't do that in good conscious."

Alarms continued to blare; screeching tires in the distance signified the search for the missing prisoner had begun. Axelrod stared at his former colleague with a look of pure shock.

"C'mon mate… We could turn up a pint, and plot new ways to rule the world… eh?"

"Hmm…" Zundapp pretended to ponder over the decision, looking off into a corner, noticing a security camera aimed right at him. His curious glare morphed quickly into an evil smirk. He looked back at the pitiful sight of the Range Rover, watching him ramble on about this and that. The bright blue eyes portrayed a dark innocence in the British car, creating the familiar sensation that Zundapp never really did like.

"Alright, but first, let's get you out of there, shall we?"

Zundapp reached into the grid, smiling at the discovered fact that only things coming out would be maimed. He gripped the larger car's tire in his own, before roughly yanking the Range Rover out of the grid.

"W-wait! The Grid…!" The dull green Range Rover found his body being pulled through the transparent screen easily. Feeling the light blue electricity pass over him, he emerged on the other side, standing before the surprisingly strong Zundapp.

Axelrod felt the chill of the air outside of his cell, the stark contrast of cool air conditioning to the stagnate air of his confinement area sent chills throughout his body. His tires touched the icy tile, feeling nothing but cold. He could see that the professor wasn't reacting to the odd frigid sensations that were creeping up from the floor. He looked down, awkwardly seeing the faint outline of his tires. He could see the black rubber turn white, before flaking off in white squares. A white line, misty and transparent outlined his chassis, creating the sense of cold nothingness. Beyond it was a grid-like pattern that was inching its way up his sides and fenders. Axelrod gasped, watching his body flake away into nothingness.

"Oops, guess I forgot about the emancipation grid. Don't worry though; I hear it's very painful…" Zundapp smiled, speaking in a light and melodic voice, almost as if he was speaking to a child. His dark smile grew colder as he watched his former employer vanish into the air around him.

Axelrod screamed. The green car panicked, trying to shake of the whiteness that was enveloping his figure. It seemed almost to speed up with the jerky movements, reaching the top of his roof. The grey eyes of Zundapp watched as the form before him flickered, then exploded, sending the tiny glowing fragments every which way before they too faded.

He glanced back up to the camera, insanity gleaming in his eyes.

"Guten Tag…" he let his smile fade, before turning down the hallway, leaving the silent hallway behind. He continued to whistle his tune, except this time the only echoes accompanying him were the fading screams of the Range Rover.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The police cruiser rested low on his shocks, his curb feelers touching the warm sand. He sighed softly, the sound barely traveling a few feet. His black and white paint absorbed a tremendous amount of heat, calming him from his tedious job of waiting for something eventful to happen. Sheriff had always loved his profession, especially when he could relax in the cool shade of the Ornament Valley billboard.

Today had seemed different for some reason. The policeman couldn't seem to get comfortable in his usual spot, the endless and empty road making him abnormally nervous. He fidgeted again, shifting his weight from axel to axel.

Sheriff sighed, before pulling out onto Route 66, headed back for the sleepy town of Radiator Springs. He figured that he could get his engine looked at by Ramone, get something cool to drink at Flo's and return to his post after a long break.

The pale asphalt suddenly became black as he approached the small town, the rough road becoming smooth. Lightning's work had held up for five years, the paint hadn't faded either. It was a short, but nice patch of pavement.

"Howdy Sheriff!" The show girl called as he pulled into the gas station.

"Afternoon, Flo." Sheriff responded warmly. Pulling into the shaded overhang, he spoke with a few visitors and residents. The pale green Motorama car pulled up, she and Sheriff speaking lightly about the weather and trivial things. She had brought him a quart of his usual, earning a surprised thank you from the sheriff.

Someone called out to Flo, asking for a refill, interrupting the two's friendly banter.

"Coming right up hon!" Flo turned to drive off, before looking back at the black and white officer and adding softly, "There's someone looking for you down by your office. He looked pretty upset… Hold your horses, I'm comin'!"

Sheriff sighed, his job never ceasing to pester him at the most inopportune time. He rose off his shocks, reversing slightly so he could exit the crowded area without bumping into anyone. He went to drive forward, turning in the direction of the small town's police department, but a suave voice caused him to slam on his breaks.

"Good day, Sherriff." The Aston Martin seemed to appear out of nowhere, a friendly smile greeting the Police Cruiser.

"Well hey there Finn!" Sheriff returned the smile. "You finally get that vacation time?"

"Sadly no, I'm here on business." The Aston Martin drove forward slightly, encouraging the policeman to continue towards his practice. "I actually need something of you."

"Oh?" Sheriff replied, "And what would that be?"

"I am in need of the records of every car that has gone missing in the area."

"Well, I should have the records in my office; you're welcome to come along. Flo told me there was someone there that needed me…" Sheriff trailed off, seeing splashes of color in front of the police office.

The two drove closer, Sheriff's surprised look turned into a frown upon seeing who it was.

A panicky Gashi fidgeted by the doorway, debating as whether to stay or go. Nearby, a Bragatron and Reko-do waited patiently for the Gashi to decide. The Aston Martin had never seen a car with such a large spoiler, or such a colorful paint job. He could only wonder as to why the young car would be so nervous of the building before them.

"Hey, tuner."

The gruff voice made Wingo jump, turning quickly to see the Sheriff and an unfamiliar Aston Martin a few yards behind him. The blue car looked curious, oblivious to the Police Cruiser's irritation.

"H-hey Sheriff… Nice d-day isn't it…? Um, I would… Uh… I n-n-need to… n-need to…" Wingo stuttered, as if nervous. In reality, the words wanted to be said, but his mind couldn't come to grips with what he wanted to say. He trailed on like this for a minute or two, rambling on about nothing.

The Aston Martin looked down at the much younger car, which could only be as old as Holley. He knew the look in the brown eyes well enough to place it without much doubt. He had seen that look worn by many cars at many funerals and debriefings, and probably wore it himself before as well.

Sheriff on the other hand, had no clue as to what the delinquent could possibly want. His constant stuttering and out of character behavior was a stark contrast to the cocky and brash tuner he was used to seeing at his headquarters. Finally he had had enough of the Gashi's rambling "What do you want?"

Wingo cowered under the angry sheriff's glare, before murmuring quietly. "I would like to file a Missing Persons Report." He looked down at the ground, as if ashamed by the words that left his lips.

Finn drove forward, trying to look as neutral as possible. A glance to his colorful friends got their attention, and they drove forward sheepishly, looking as nervous as their friend. "Why don't we go inside? I am going to need to talk to all three of you."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Wingo shifted uncomfortably in the clean office. Usually his visits in the small room entailed a parking boot on one of his tires, and a stern glare from the resident police officer. He glanced at Snot Rod, who appeared to be as uncomfortable as him. Wingo had been the first to be questioned by the Aston Martin, followed by Snot Rod, but was bored and awkward waiting for the questioning to finish with DJ.

The Gashi looked up to the ceiling, before shifting his gaze to the floor and back again. His eyes flitted to the walls, shifting his weight to one side.

"Oi, Wingo."

Snot Rod's deep voice startled him immensely, making him start. He looked at the orange muscle car, who returned his gaze with a serious expression. Wingo recoiled lightly under the cool blue gaze, ashamed for being so nervous in a place they had been multiple times before.

"Why don't you go to the Café? I can wait for DJ."

Not wanting to argue, Wingo silently nodded, driving out the wide glass doors that led to the outside world. He drove solemnly to the café, ordering a drink and tried to relax.

Wingo sighed, staring up at the blue sky. His normally bright brown eyes were dull with depression. He watched as grey clouds drifted lazily across the sky, bringing the hope of rain. His can of gasoline had long since grown warm, a red Miata brought it to him cold. The shade felt freezing, but he couldn't muster up the strength to move into the blinding sunlight.

The private investigator had asked him standard questions about Boost, where he went to school, how the two were related, what they normally did in their free time, what job he held. Others were more personal, like what he thought was out of character for the Kyoku or how he reacted to the other's disappearance.

He missed his close friend more than any of the others. He recalled meeting him while on suspension from school; he broke the strict dress code once again by coming to school in pink and yellow leopard print. They were attending different elementary schools, but found more in common with each other than anyone else they had met. They grew older and created the Delinquent Road Hazards after graduating high school. They had never been apart, being best friends.

He sighed again, the melancholy emotions threatening to draw tears from the Gashi. He focused on the pavement in front of him, the cracks few and far between and the texture sandy. Wingo finally noticed that he was covered in dust from rims to spoiler, but didn't care.

"Calculations confirm that Transberry flavored gasoline produces a displeasing taste when heated over 54 degrees."

Wingo glanced up, his eyes meeting a blinding white paint job. The car was looking blankly down at him, pale eyes watching the Gashi with interest.

"Um… can I help you?" Wingo asked nervously, he wasn't really in the mood to talk with random strangers.

"Do you feel pain?" Was the monotone reply. The car simply continued to watch him, observing the reactions. "Data infers that frowns are associated with sadness and anger."

Wingo glared at the plain car. He glanced to his side and noticed an odd barcode, black and obvious on the side of the pale car. Finally he spoke. "If I said 'no' I'd be lying." He murmured with a sad chuckle.

The white car looked expectantly at the purple and green tuner, as if asking for more without saying it outright. Pale eyes searched the sad expression on the Gashi, finding a distant look in his watery eyes. His own expression remained neutral at the odd display.

"My best friend went missing recently. They're working on finding him, but I'm worried anyways. I mean, what if I never see him again..?" Wingo started, speaking quietly. He wasn't really sure if he should even be talking about this to anyone.

"What do you intend on doing if the outcome is not favorable?" Was the blank reply.

The Gashi's undercarriage tensed slightly at the cold and emotionless words. He turned with a dumbfounded expression to face the stock car, who countered with an equally blank face. They looked at each other for a few minutes, before Wingo's face faltered and he looked at the concrete pad solemnly.

"Well, I dunno. Guess I'd go home and open a paint shop, do custom works. Maybe ghost with DJ and Snot Rod… When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade right?"

"Inadequate philosophy. Return the lemons to life."

Wingo laughed, feeling the persistent unhappiness lifting of a moment. Boost had said something along the same lines. When Wingo would use the phrase, he would always demand to see life's manager, or burn down life's house with combustible lemons. He smiled for the first time in three days.

"Ahaha… Boost used to say the same thing." The Gashi glanced up, seeing DJ exiting the sheriff's office with Snot Rod. "Well, gotta ghost. Never did get your name?"

"I am a VIN."

"Vin? Alright then. Catch ya on the flip side!" Wingo sped off, meeting his friends with a smile that was returned.

Vin watched him go, with an odd look shining in his lilac eyes. Something was stirring in his systems, unable to pinpoint what exactly was bothering him. He felt conflicted, suddenly the need to drive spurred within his mind. As he raced down the opposite direction that the tuners went, he whispered sadly, letting emotions seep into his voice for the first time.

"Farewell."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Oh my god I am so sorry that took so long to spit out! Yeah, I am continuing this, but to be fully honest I only have half an idea on where it's going. Anyways, I am proud of the Zundapp and Wingo and Boost sections, but not much else. I cannot write those British lunatics for the life of me… please forgive me… I even read most of the fics of them to get a better idea but as you can see that didn't help…

I had to restart playing the game to get all the VIN quotes, so you'll be seeing lost of them, but I won't tell you which ones they are. You can figure it out; I know there are smart people hanging around somewhere.

Plus so many Portal references!

Anyways, again, one of my New Year's resolutions was to respond to the many reviews I hope to get this year for my stories, so here we go! Plus, they are in order from earliest, so yeah.

Samantha Spanner- To be fully honest, when you mentioned saws hanging from the ceiling, I wasn't sure what you were talking about. But when I replayed the game, I found the MotorCo shortcut. Oh god, I couldn't believe how semi-accurate I was with this! I squealed so loudly my parents came into the room asking what was wrong lol. Plus I hope this answered your question!

Mighty ANT- I am so happy you enjoyed it! I can only hope this can compete with the first chapter, even though I know it can't… the game is fun, except when you are going after the 'boss' races, when the things they yell at you get really annoying and make you scream at the TV…

Itsfinnmcmissile- You got your wish as its being continued! My computer is really mad at your username though, it keeps telling me it's misspelled, even though I know its right! And don't worry. Boost will/will not be tortured immensely…

Guess who forgot to put a disclaimer? Cars/Cars 2 ©Disney/Pixar


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